


Like It's Our Job To Lose Our Minds Every Night

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Kesha (Musician), My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco, Tokio Hotel, Young Veins
Genre: Alternate Universe, College, Houseparty, Multi, Party, hangovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 22:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just an excuse for me to take my favorite fandoms and squish them together crudely in a Katy Perry's "Last Friday Night"-esque setting. Set in the morning after the party; just a mild exploration of relationship problems that stem from the party. college!verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like It's Our Job To Lose Our Minds Every Night

**Author's Note:**

> I put the characters in a mansion because I needed a place big enough and I wanted them to be living together, so sorry if it seems a bit weird.
> 
> Kesha is the only girl, so sorry if that seems weird too. But she's so underused I felt like throwing her in as a variable. Plus I think she and Tommy work well together.
> 
> Sorry if everyone feels a bit OOC. I don't have exceptional experience with these fandoms yet, and maybe the scenes are too short to get a great grasp on their personalities. Apologies.
> 
> Title taken from "Die Tonight," by the Young Veins.
> 
> Mikey and Gerard are not related in this fanfic.

Adam wakes up in his bed with a fucking huge hangover that hurts like a bitch.

At least, that’s what he thinks to himself as he rolls over and squints painfully in the late-morning sunshine. Goddamn, how much did he drink last night?! This is probably the worst hangover he’s had since ever.

And . . . wait. There’s a person in the bed next to him. His hair is fanned out underneath his shoulders and his eyeliner is smudged around his eyes.

Oh, wait. And he’s naked.

“Uh, Bill?” Adam asks quietly, slightly afraid. Because he’s always liked Bill, as a friend (he kind of has to, since they all live together like this), and had hoped for more, but they’d never gotten around to dating or anything. Made out a couple times, yes. But never been in a relationship. And now it looks like they’ve slept together, which may/may not be a good thing. Most likely the latter.

“Bill?” Adam gently shakes Bill’s shoulder, which has a blooming hickey on it. Bill mumbles, moving his perfect, pink lips, then opens his melted brown eyes, sees Adam, and widens them in shock.

“Adam?”

“Bill! You’re awake, okay—”

Bill sits up, trying to ignore the sudden motherfucking pounding in his skull. “Where?” he asks, disoriented for a moment.

“We’re in my room.”

“Oh,” he realizes, then glances down at himself. “Scheiße!” he curses. (His parents brought him to America from Germany when he was a baby, so he speaks the language.) “Where the hell are my clothes?” he asks, looking around, then seeing Adam again. “Oh, fuck, we fucked last night?” he cries, exasperated. “Why the hell don’t I remember anything?”

Adam is crawling out of his bed in the meantime and finds their clothes strewn all over the floor on the side of the bed closest to the door, all articles of dark denim and leather and black t-shirts. He tosses Bill his clothes and slides on his own, then stands up.

“Goddamn,” Bill says, and keeps muttering expletives, both in German and in English. “What the fuck happened last night?”

 

*

 

_Flashback_

Kesha and Tommy are making out on the couch; Kesha’s bra undone and Tommy’s fly unzipped. Around them, in front of the giant speakers, dance a bunch of crazy boys and the girls they’ve invited here. There are red plastic cups and spilled skittles (Brendon has a profound love/obsession of them) everywhere and someone may have thrown some roofies into the vodka. But, y’know, it’s all good because this is a _party_ and it’s all about having the best fucking time of your life. Which these people are.

Gerard and Ryan have snuck off into Ryan’s room together, Brendon’s gone looking for them (jealousy for Ryan, probably), Bill and Adam disappeared a couple minutes ago, and Mikey and Spencer are somewhere watching lesbians make out. Pete and Frank are dancing with some barely-dressed girls, laughing and maybe a little stoned. Yeah, it’s all good.

 

*

 

Elsewhere in the house; the living room, specifically, Kesha and Tommy are draped over opposite ends of the couch, their legs intertwining artfully in the middle.

Kesha stirs first, wiping the glitter from her eyes and shoving Tommy’s legs from her own. They looked attractive together like that, though; her dark, ripped denim that was covering skinny legs, and his even darker and tighter pants over even skinnier legs.

Tommy makes an incoherent noise and rolls onto the floor. “Mmm . . . what happened?” he mumbles. He blinks at Kesha, trying to get a grasp of the situation. “Oh, dammit . . . did we sleep together?” There’s a pounding in his head. His pants are unzipped, but at least they’re on his legs. Which hopefully means nothing happened between them last night.

Kesha holds a hand to her throbbing head of messy hair. “Prob’ly not,” she says, slurring a little. “Our clothes are on—oh, damn, where’s my bra?”

Tommy finds it and helpfully returns it to her. She’s too tired and wincing from her headache to care.

“Fuck,” yawns Tommy. “I don’t remember anything from last night.”

Kesha nods; just a small movement of the head to avoid any further pain. “Must’ve been fun.”

 

*

 

Ryan tries to get up, but something heavy and soft lying on the lower part of his legs prevents him from doing so. He blinks his eyes open heavily to see that it’s Brendon, who’s resting on top of his and Gerard’s tangled mess of limbs.

Why are all three of them in a bed together?

Ryan decides to wake Brendon first, since he’s the one keeping him from moving anywhere. “Brendon,” he hisses, jabbing at the hollow on his neck in between his collarbones. “Get up, you’re killing my legs, dude.”

“Bleargh,” Brendon says sleepily, rolling off their legs. “Where—ohhh.”

It sounds like Brendon actually remembers what happened last night, which Ryan doesn’t, so he reaches over and wakes Gerard, too, who opens his eyes after some enthusiastic shaking. His crimson hair is tangled and a bit frizzed, and he winces as he sits up.

“Brendon,” Gerard says. “Um, what the fuck happened last night?”

Brendon is throwing on some clothes—one of Ryan’s black t-shirts and someone’s jeans. “Oh, yeah,” he says. “You guys drank that shit, right?”

“What’re you talking about?” Ryan and Gerard say this at the same time. At least, something roughly like it.

“Someone dumped some roofies into the vodka,” Brendon says casually, like it’s totally not a bad thing.

“How do you remember this?” Gerard asks, stretching his arms and running his fingers through his hair. He has no idea what happened last night. The last thing he remembered was seeing Mikey kiss a lesbian on the cheek and then somehow getting himself dragged off to Ryan and Brendon’s bedroom.

“I saw it,” Brendon says. “I think I’m the only one who didn’t drink it after it all got spiked.”

“Lucky asshole,” mutters Ryan, who’s bare-chested and tugging on a sweatshirt that’s probably not his.

Brendon just shoots him a look before walking out the door.

 

*

 

_Flashback_

“I always thought you were really hot,” Bill slurs, his breath hot and stinking of liquor against Adam’s ear.

“Really?” Adam smiles, a cute smirk, and kisses the tip of Bill’s nose gently. “Me too,” he murmurs. Then he and Bill connect mouths wetly and he feels the happiest he’s ever felt at one of these parties. He and Bill have always been close—the others joke that they could be twins—but for a while now he’s hoped for being more than just a friend. And now here they are, Bill straddling Adam’s lap in the living room while wildly gyrating bodies swirl around them.

Bill sighs, sounding content, and buries his face in Adam’s neck, making happy humming sounds. “Adam,” he moans quietly into the taller mans’ ear.

“Bill,” Adam murmurs back. He tilts his head back as Bill starts leaving sloppy kisses along his collarbone and up his neck to his jawline. He eyes the insane partygoers around him. “Do you wanna get out of here?” he asks quietly.

Bill pulls back, meeting his eyes through long, dark, heavy-lidded eyelashes. “Sure.”

 

*

 

Brendon rubs his temple as he thumps softly down the stairs from the second floor of the mansion. Which isn’t really a mansion. Just a really, really giant house. But it’s too big to be called a house, so everyone refers to it as the mansion. It has two gigantic floors; the first containing a kitchen, living room, foyer, library, et cetera. The second floor is where all the bedrooms are situated. Oh, and there’s a basement, too, but no one ever goes down there but for laundry purposes.

Brendon wonders where everyone else is. He can hear Kesha and Tommy’s muffled conversation coming from the kitchen as they make breakfast together, and Bill and Adam are probably in one of their bedrooms. He has no idea where Mikey, Spencer and Pete are.

He walks into the foyer and sees Pete face down on a couch, still asleep. There’s candy and streamers and dried-up spilled beer everywhere. He doesn’t even know how the streamers got there; someone else must’ve brought them in.

“Pete,” Brendon says aloud, kicking away a pile of candy wrappers and plastic cups. “Get up, man.”

Pete is unresponsive, so Brendon whacks him over the head with a cushion. Pete lifts his head with a groan.

“Dude, come on. You gotta help me clean this mess up.”

Pete mutters something unintelligible into the couch, but rolls off gingerly onto the floor. “God, where’d all this shit come from?” he asks.

Brendon shrugs as he walks into the kitchen to find a giant garbage bag to shove all this crap into. “It was pretty wild last night,” he calls over his shoulder.

It must have been, Pete thinks, kicking some of the trash into a pile. How many people had they invited, anyway? It was mostly girls, but a lot of them had probably brought some guy friends. The excess beer everywhere is evidence.

Brendon nods to Tommy in the kitchen, where he’s frying what smells like bacon. He opens up a messy drawer and is rifling through the junk when Bill and Adam enter the room.

Adam just groans and touches his forehead to the surface of the granite island in the middle of the kitchen. Bill stands behind him with his palm splayed awkwardly on the small of Adam’s back.

“Relax, dude, I’m making coffee,” Kesha says. “It’ll be done in like, five minutes.”

Brendon smiles to himself as he finally retrieves the box of plastic garbage bags. Sometimes he wonders how the nearly dozen of them manage to cooperate with each other like this without killing anybody. It’s amazing, really.

Mikey walks in, holding a silvery-gray stiletto heel dangling from his left hand. “Kesha, is this yours?” he asks, sitting down at the round drop-leaf table that’s next to the window. He tosses it to her when she nods. “I found it in the sink when I woke up.”

“When you woke up?” she asks.

He nods, yawning. “I woke up in the tub.” He sniffs the air. “Coffee?”

“Yeah,” replies Kesha. “You slept in the tub?”

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s not as bad as it sounds, actually.” He stretches his arms and yawns again.

Bill watches as Brendon leaves the room with an empty garbage bag. “Where’s Spencer?” he asks, his hand still on Adam, who’s so still he might have fallen asleep. Except that he’s standing up.

“He was in the tub with me,” Mikey says.

“Did you just say Spencer was in the bathtub with you?” Ryan asks as he walks in, followed by Gerard. Both were probably lured downstairs by the tantalizing smell of the brewing coffee, which is practically infecting the air with its scent.

“Mmm,” Mikey says, which is automatically assumed to mean yes. “Wild night last night.” He shrugs, like that’s some sort of explanation or excuse and he isn’t able to help it.

“Adam?” Ryan says.

“Hungover,” explains Kesha, which Tommy rolls his eyes at.

“We’re all kinda hungover,” he says. “I think he can suck it up.

“You just all need some coffee,” Kesha says, gesturing. “We’re like half-dead zombies.”

“Zombies are completely dead,” Ryan points out, grinning a little when she shoots him a look. “It’s impossible to be a half-dead zombie.”

She makes a face just as the light on the coffeemaker blinks, and she starts pulling mugs out of a cabinet as Brendon walks back in. He closes his eyes, making audible sniffs. “That smells great,” he says.

Tommy has all the bacon in a little, slightly charred pile on a plate. “Here you go,” he says unenthusiastically, taking a mug from Kesha and lending her a smile.

Ryan sips his coffee and eyes the bacon. “This is all we get for breakfast? Coffee and bacon?”

Tommy flicks Ryan’s shoulder as he moves to sit down, chair scraping against the floor obnoxiously. “At least somebody bothered to make stuff for you guys.”

Everyone’s too busy inhaling their coffee and trying to curb their hangovers to answer.

 

*

 

After breakfast (or lack thereof), Ryan and Brendon collapse on the couch together. “So, why were you and Gerard and me all in our bedroom together?” Ryan mumbles into Brendon’s shoulder. He’s lying on top of him. “You were the only sober one.”

Brendon clears his throat. See, he kind of doesn’t want to say. Because if he lied, everything would be okay and Ryan and Gerard none the wiser. What happened last night was something he didn’t need to share. And it was so perfect, since Gerard and Ryan couldn’t even remember a single fucking thing.

 

*

 

_Flashback_

Brendon leans against the kitchen island, smiling absently at the skankily clad, horribly fake-tanned girl next to him. Her cami is maybe a couple sizes too small.

The person Brendon’s searching the room for isn’t even of the same gender as her, and he’s nowhere to be seen. Brendon downs the rest of his beer smoothly, seeing a guy not-so-sneakily slip some more roofies into the bowl of vodka, and meanders into the living room.

He freezes as he sees two shadows figures on the stairs. One is Ryan, his artfully done makeup smeared messily, and he’s kissing Gerard fiercely, holding him close by his tie. (Brendon wonders why Gerard is wearing a tie at a party like this.)

Gerard moans, and Ryan continues dragging Gerard up the stairs. Brendon watches the two slip into his and Ryans’ bedroom, then swallows.

He wishes it were him.

He wants it to be him in Gerard’s place, being ravaged by the tiny but fiery Ryan Ross. He wants it to be him, returning Ryan’s drunken passion. He wants it to be him in their bedroom. He wants _Ryan._ He loves him.

Brendon looks around for a moment, not knowing why, then heads up the stairs quietly.

 

*

 

There’s a pretty fucking good reason Brendon wants to keep last night’s events to himself. After he followed Gerard and Ryan up, he sort of had a threesome with them.

Not a threesome in the threesome sense, really; there wasn’t actually any sex. The three of them did make out with each other well into the night (and the morning) and get naked. And sleep together in the bed.

Brendon feels it isn’t necessary to reveal that kind of stuff to Ryan, so he decides to say, “You and Gerard fell asleep together last night, so I decided to join you.” Besides, they had been sleeping on _his_ bed. “Did you mind?”

“No,” Ryan mumbles, his mouth warm and wet against Brendon’s skin through his shirt. (Technically, Ryan’s shirt.) “Gerard and I just had no fucking idea what went on last night.”

“Mmm,” Brendon hums. “You two were pretty out when I came in.”

“I’m still so tired, though,” Ryan groans, his voice making pleasant vibrations against Brendon’s arm and chest.

Brendon smiles, pushing his glasses further up his nose and petting Ryan’s hair. “It’s okay,” he says comfortingly. “You can sleep on me if you want.”

He can feel Ryan smile against him. Then he makes a snuffling noise, adjusts himself, and falls asleep quietly on Brendon’s chest. It’s almost adorable, his tiny frame warm and snuggled up against Brendon’s.

Brendon gives himself a small frown. He’s just realized that he can’t move now.

Oh, well. At least as a friend, he can do this one thing for Ryan that Gerard can’t. This makes him extremely happy inside, and Brendon sighs contentedly and falls asleep too.

 

*

 

Kesha brings a mug of coffee with her when she visits Spencer in the bathroom. It’s almost comical, his horrible bedhead and his gangly limbs perched on the edges of the tub and sticking out at awkward angles. Oh, and look, there’s her other stiletto sitting on top of the medicine cabinet. She wonders, briefly, how it got up there.

Pete walks in behind her. “Spence, dude, get up,” he says, much less respectful than Kesha was. Not that it would matter to Spencer anyway. “I gotta use this bathroom. Tommy’s puking in the other one and Mikey and Bill are using the others.”

Spencer groans awake as Kesha laughs and says, “Why can’t Bill do his makeup in his room?”

Pete shrugs. “C’mon, Spencer. It’s like—what time is it?”

“Eleven-thirty,” says Kesha.

Spencer climbs out of the tub. “Damn.”

“How’d you sleep in there?” asks Kesha, handing him his coffee and following him out the bathroom as Pete closes the door behind them.

Spencer shrugs and slurps some coffee out of the mug cupped between his hands. “It wasn’t so bad, I guess. As long as you don’t move around too much.”

“And you slept in there with Mikey,” Kesha says dubiously. There’s no way you could fit two sleeping people into a tub like that.

Spencer shrugs, not elaborating. He just downs his coffee as they walk down the stairs.

Kesha eyes Ryan and Brendon on the couch, smiling, then collapses into a chair herself. She and Tommy had probably fallen asleep around two at the earliest, and she’s tired as fuck.

 

*

 

"Billll!” Adam drones, knocking at the door as irritatingly as he can. “Do your makeup later! There’s no one here but us, and we don’t care if we see you without your ridiculous amounts of eyeliner.”          

The door swings open suddenly and Adam takes a startled step back. Bill looks at him dangerously and yanks him into his room, just four steps from the bathroom. “Sit,” Bill says.

“This is my room,” Adam protests, and Bill cuts him off.

“Adam,” he begins, eyes flashing. “I wasn’t doing my makeup. I was _checking_ myself to make sure we didn’t—you know. Fuck last night.”

Adam bites his lip nervously. He’s afraid of what happened last night, too, and he’s still not sure whether they had sex or not. He’s almost afraid to ask.

Luckily, Bill says something before he can. “I checked myself in the bathroom,” he says. “I’m not . . . not completely positive, but I think we did it.”

“I’m fine. But this—it feels weird. We’re not what we used to be anymore, Adam.”

He knows exactly what Bill’s talking about. They used to be great friends—friends that made out once in a while, yeah, but that hadn’t hurt their friendship. Brendon and Ryan had something similar going on. Now they’ve slept together, and everything’s awkward. He knows he won’t be able to look at Bill the same way again, but he doesn’t want to just stop being friends.

“Maybe we can . . . maybe we can try working something out.” Adam pauses. “It was a mistake. An undoable mistake, but—”

Bill interrupts. “That would be nice,” is all he says, then turns and leaves the room.

 

*

 

Brendon wakes up a couple hours later—he thinks somewhere around two or three—to see Gerard lying on the couch opposite him and Ryan, arching an eyebrow.

Ryan is stirring on his chest, which is probably what woke him up. “Bren?” he mumbles, confused.

“Mmm.” Brendon pats the top of Ryan’s head and kisses his cheekbone. “I’m right here.” He can see Gerard out of the corner of his eye, watching them. Is he jealous, he wonders?

“Bren,” Ryan mumbles, lifting his head a little to catch Brendon’s lips with his own. Brendon responds eagerly before the two of them pull away to breathe.

“Ryan,” he mutters. “You can get off me now.”

“Okay,” Ryan says, pulling off and yawning. Brendon puts his legs down so that Ryan can sit. “Oh! Gerard!” Is it just Brendon, or is Ryan _blushing_? “Um—“

Gerard smirks a little. Brendon isn’t sure if it’s directed towards him or Ryan. “It’s fine,” he says.

Ryan looks down. “Um,” he says again.

Brendon smiles. Ryan is kind of cute like this, flustered and not knowing what to say or do. Vulnerable. It’s unlike him, since he’s usually impassive and kept to himself. Not a very loud or blushing-type person.

Gerard seems to be amused by Ryan’s behavior, too, because he  gets up, slowly, and walks over to kiss Ryan on each corner of his mouth. Then he looks at Brendon for a moment, thinking, and kisses him too.

Gerard doesn’t say anything as he leaves the room.

Brendon pokes Ryan gently.

“What?” Ryan says this a bit defensively.

“Nothing.”

“Then why’d you poke me?”

Brendon shrugs and pulls back into another kiss. They spend the next half-hour making out until Pete and Mikey interrupt them.

 

*

 

Adam knocks on Bill’s door tentatively. He isn’t sure if Bill seemed upset or angry during their conversation, and he feels kind of guilty.

“Come in.”

Adam does. It’s a slight mess, with clothes and paper and nail polish and eyeliner and more clothes everywhere, with Bill in the middle of it all. He’s sitting still as a statue in a folding chair that’s been set up in the middle of the room.

“Uh, Bill?” Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Adam.”

Adam sighs. _Something’s_ up. “Look, about this . . . this situation. We should get into this slowly. Considering what happened. We can’t jump into this. I don’t want to—I don’t want to hurt you or anything. I was thinking, we should go out to dinner or something sometime.” He swallows, watching Bill’s unchanged, sullen expression. “And I’m sorry. About . . . this.”

To his surprise, Bill smiles. He gets up and walks out the door absently, Adam following behind. “You don’t need to apologize,” he says. “And . . . yeah. That sounds great. The dinner. I mean.”

Bill turns, wrapping his arms around Adam’s neck and pulling him close. It feels good, in a completely non-sexual way. Standing on his toes, Bill kisses him, just a gentle peck on the lips and nothing more.

They stand together for a moment like that, cheek to cheek, in silence. Then Pete has to come along and ruin the moment.

“Hey,” he says, arching an eyebrow and patting Adam’s shoulder. “Mikey and I are putting on a movie downstairs. Join if you want any popcorn.”

They pull away, Adam looking at bill with a question on his face. Bill shrugs, because what else can they do?

 

*

 

It’s definitely crowded, to say the least. They’ve crammed all ten members of the household onto two sofas and a two-person armchair. It was squished before the piles of blankets were added (no one knows who pulled those out) and now there’s popcorn everywhere. Like, literally. Adam can see some in Bill’s hair.

He has no clue what they’re watching. He’s just enjoying this; being in the semi-dark next to Bill, holding his hand under the layers of blankets. Feeding each other popcorn. He feels so sappy he wants to laugh, but it’s also really nice at the same time.

Next to him are Gerard and Spencer. Ryan and Brendon occupy the loveseat while he rest—Kesha, Tommy, Mikey, Pete—are on the remaining couch.

Brendon is sprawled on the armchair, legs dangling casually at the end, with Ryan sitting somewhat upright on his stomach. Ryan’s seen this movie a hundred times, so he keeps turning around to exchange kisses with Brendon until they’re just on top of each other, making out. They’re shirts are rucked up and Brendon’s fly is almost unzipped when Gerard lets out a strange chuckle and says to them, “Get a room, dude,” and tosses some popcorn at them.

Adam, for a moment, wonders if something’s going on between the three of them, but Bill smiles at him with a kiss to his neck.

“Let them deal with it,” Bill mouths against his skin before shoving his tongue down Adam’s throat.

Bill’s needy, Adam thinks suspiciously as Bill slips a hand up his shirt. He wonders why Bill’s doing this, since just an hour or so ago he seemed upset beyond words at Adam.

“Bill,” he mumbles, because even though it feels so good and he’s wanted this for he doesn’t _know_ how long, there’s something up with Bill and the others are looking at them a bit. “Stop.”

Bill does, albeit reluctantly, and pulls away.

Adam leans his mouth towards Bill’s ear. “What are you doing?” he asks. He bites his lip. “One moment you seemed really angry at me and then suddenly we’re doing . . . this.”

Bill blinks up at him, so beautiful, and _fuck,_ because Adam can’t really think straight. “I—I realized,” he says, incredibly quiet, voice lowered beyond a whisper. “I realized that I want you. At first . . . at first I was kind of scared that we’d slept together, because fuck, we’re best friends. Or were.”

Adam nods, understanding. Hopefully the others have stopped staring at them. “And what did you realize?” he asks, softly and gently.

“That I wanted you.” He can barely hear Bill’s words. “You were here this whole time, and I didn’t realize it until we got drunk and had sex.”

Adam smiles. “But now we’re together,” he whispers. “And we can make it up. We’re going out to dinner as soon as possible, okay?”

Bill smiles back, tentative. “Hopefully, this dating thing won’t be awkward,” he murmurs, and Adam laughs lightly and kisses him.

Meanwhile, Brendon and Ryan have pulled themselves up into sitting positions, Ryan somewhat flushed from Gerard’s comment.

Brendon sighs. He hadn’t know what he’d gotten himself into last night.     

**Author's Note:**

> I might be making a sequel in which Brendon and Ryan and Gerard try to figure their own little relationship problem out. I can't promise that it'll be finished, so :3.


End file.
